Sanguine by Nightfall
by 16DarkMidnight80
Summary: "Excuse me?" came the timid voice of a young woman, probably just reaching her fortieth season..."Have you seen a young boy about this high? He has brown hair and eyes; his name is Lucas." Rated M for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**_Important Note: _**Just_ want to add a little something in before you get started: two seasons equals a year. You'll find out what I mean soon enough._

_When you catch a glimpse of your potential, that's when passion is born. - Zig Ziglar_

... ... ... ...

"Excuse me?" came the timid voice of a young woman, probably just reaching her fortieth season. I turned towards the voice, schooling my expression into one of casual impassiveness. She stood there, wringing her hands worriedly, her blue-green eyes and brown hair shining in the setting sun. "Have you seen a young boy about this high? He has brown hair and eyes; his name is Lucas."

"No, I have not, miss," I answered, curious at her obvious concern for the boy. Was she the boy's mother? If so, why hadn't she been keeping a closer eye on him?

"If you _do_ find him, could you find me and return him? I can't seem to find him anywhere!" I nodded before turning away and walking down the warm, cobbled streets of the Imperial City. Even in the late afternoon, just a few hours shy of the stores closing up for the day, the streets were still filled and crowded in the Market District. The mother turned to another citizen, I could hear, asking if they had seen this _Lucas_.

I wasn't there for pleasure, however. I had a job to do, and I would see it done. The lost boy was none of my concern. I glanced at the Black Band on my right hand, the cool-to-the-touch band resting around my right ring finger, blending with my naturally black scales. I was a long way away from being a lowly ranked member, but despite my success, the Family still treated me as the youngest, a _child_, which I despised greatly.

When I looked back up from my hand, my target was weaving through the masses far ahead of me, unaware of my following him. Occasionally, he would stop and talk with someone, and I busied myself accordingly. As I looked at the wares one man was selling outside, not intent on purchasing any of his things, I caught a flash of something small darting between the legs of the Imperial City patrons. A light giggle reached my ears, such a different sound from the rather dull, annoying din of city life.

A boy, no more than ten seasons, looked out onto the street from behind a city wall, giggling again when he spotted someone in the crowd. His clothes were plain and simple, much like the woman who had stopped me mere minutes before, and he had shaggy brown hair that begged for a cutting. When he whirled around, sprinting as fast as his little legs could carry him, I caught a flash of rich brown eyes. I glanced out of the corner of my eye, spying my mark still chatting with the other man, enraptured in a heated discussion about something or other.

"Hi!" came a cheerful voice, and I looked down to see the same boy, grinning widely back up at me. His face was still round and carried the same squishiness that all humans and even elves and orcs had as young, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hello, young one," I replied coolly, standing above the boy. "What do you need?"

"Hide me!" he said excitedly, reaching his hands out up at me, asking wordlessly to pick him up. At that, I cocked my eye ridge upwards, and it must have been the expression on my face that made his smile fall slowly, like melting snow off of a roof.

"From whom?" I asked, and the grin came back full force.

"Mommy! Her no can see me!"

"Young one, you should not worry your mother so," I said in a reprimanding manner, a pout growing on the boy's face. "What is your name?"

"Lucas." Ah, my suspicions were correct. I glanced over my shoulder nonchalantly, seeing my mark leave in a huff, marching towards the towering gates that led to the Arena. My guess was that he was off to watch a match before they closed for the night, as the contract had stated he had quite the gambling problem when it came to the Arena matches. I may have been in a…unique profession, but I was not heartless, as many rumored the Family to be.

"Lucas. You should not stray from your mother's side. Bad things happen when you do." I turned to the boy, picked him up, and set him on my hip. With long strides, I walked towards the mother, whom I could see still asking people if they had seen her son.

"Like what?" he asked, curiosity glistening all over his face, his brown eyes twinkling with child-like wonder.

"Bad things," I repeated. "Miss?" Said woman turned to me, gasping in relief when she spotted the boy in my arms. I handed him to her, turning to follow my mark before he got too far away. A match in the Arena wouldn't be too bad, either. It was considered a public setting. I heard the Imperial woman call out, but I didn't pause in my quest, my mission that led me towards the famous Arena.

… … …

I was nearly to the exit with the other patrons before the first scream, feminine by the pitch of it, reached my sensitive ears, but I, with many others, kept walking, shoving one another to leave first. Inside, I smirked an evil grin, but kept my cool, uninterested façade up. With long strides, I quickly got out and began walking towards the Waterfront, where I had come in with my trusty steed. The city slowly grew quieter as I neared the Waterfront District.

Finally reaching it, hearing the water lap at the stone and sand, calmed me, and the tension bled out. Like any other Argonian, the mere sound of water was like a call home, an ancient invitation to ancient roots. However, I knew my horse would want to move out, and I was ready, too. I had never been one for city life, and even a day in the city was enough to get my figurative feathers ruffled.

As I reached the main walk that curved with the wall and water, I heard the pitter-patter of small, running feet, a gleeful giggle following shortly after. I recognized it as the boy from early, Lucas, and I quickly spotted him ducking into a bush, his mother coming from behind at several lengths. Again, she had the worried, haggard look about her, and I was ashamed _for _her. I had my fair share of helping take care of young ones, and some you could never take your eyes off of, because they were bound to up and run the moment you did. Lucas struck me as one of those children.

I melted with the shadow, the moons casting pale slivers of light over the expanse, highlighting the young woman. I slowly, cautiously, made my way over to the occupied bush as the mother turned back the way she came, picking up her skirts in one hand to run. She was well out of view when I came up behind the boy in the bush, and he cautiously peaked out from his hiding spot.

"What," I started, and he jumped around with a small cry of fright before recognizing me, "have I told you about straying?" I knew of children his age that had run away from their parents or caregivers, and ended up in some gutter or in the wilderness, bloody and cold. Something in the boy's eyes spoke of potential, and if my hunch was correct, I'd want him to live for many more seasons before meeting up with him once more.

"Not to," he answered meekly, hanging his head, but no tears fell. He was only chastened, not a child who would easily succumb to the blubbering that would be expected.

"Return home. Now," I spoke sternly, and the boy nodded, looking pitifully up at me.

"Take me?" I sighed, but grasped his outreached hand gingerly, and I lead him out from behind the bush. We walked to the other side, where the houses were, and we went to a small shack near the large archway, the boy swinging our joined hands all the while. I knocked on the door, not looking down at Lucas, where he smiled cheerfully up at me. The same brown haired woman answered, her eyes growing big spotting me holding the hand of her son.

"Please ensure _Lucas_ does not run off again," I slightly growled, letting her know through narrowed eyes and a hint of teeth that it was shameful and I was disgusted with how she couldn't keep track of her own child.

"Thank you," she said, taking the other hand of the boy, who let my own go, thankfully. "I don't know how I can repay you…"

"Watch the boy as a _mother should_, and all debts are paid," I snarled, whirling around and stalking towards the other end of the island, where my horse awaited. The boy called out a farewell, to which I ignored in favor of walking away. On the other side stood a mare, as black as a moonless, stormy night, as black as the Void of which she was sure to have been born from, even if I did know her lineage. I mounted the miffed horse and we took off over the surface of Lake Rumare.

Water-walking could be so effective at times like this.

… … …

It was several seasons later when I returned to the Imperial City, in yet another observation by myself, and to earn the bonus, the murder had to be an elaborate setup. It was going to take time, so I had rented a room at the Tiber Septim Hotel in the Talos Plaza District. The room was upscale and cost more than I usually paid for, but I had to make a show of being in the city for a while.

I hoped to be out of there before week's end.

Unfortunately, I had the misfortune to run into the same boy from seasons earlier. I had hoped to hide from him the moment I spotted him weaving through the crowds, half-eaten apple gripped in his hands as he laughed gaily. Hissing a soft profanity through my teeth, I ducked behind the great dragon statue in the Plaza, cursing my lack of foresight for a hood.

I also wished for my leathers and a proper weapon. However, I was dressed in a brown shirt and light brown linens, and being an Argonian of black scales, I stood out amongst the light colored commoners and the white stone of the city. I knew the exact moment that the boy spotted me was my own doom, not to sound too overdramatic.

"Hey!" he cried, running up to me, not caring if he bumped into an elder, nor was he aware of the muttered curses that followed. I glanced over him; he was taller now, a little broader in build, but his hair was still shaggy and in desperate need of a cut. He appeared to be of sixteen or so seasons, and I looked up, not spotting the worrying mother anywhere.

"Why are you not with your mother, young one?" I asked calmly, and he shrugged indifferently. "That is not an answer."

"I don't know. I think she's somewhere in the Market," he responded, taking another bite of the crisp apple he held.

"Are you not too young to be wandering off by yourself?"

"I'm ten! My mom lets me." I mentally corrected my age of him from sixteen seasons to twenty. Still, I skeptically gazed at him, tapping a claw against the deadly silver dagger that hung from my hip. It wasn't uncommon for anyone to carry some sort of weapon while inside city walls, but I very well could not have my black scabbard strapped to me; it would draw too much attention.

"Young one," I started.

"Lucas," he interjected, looking a little apologetic at my chastening glare.

"_Lucas_," I hissed in annoyance, "you are but a boy. You should stay with your mother, no matter what she says."

"She's off with company," he muttered unhappily, glaring at a rock he kicked with his shoe. So she was a…to put it kindly, a lady of the night. It explained his obvious distain for being around his mother, and why he went off on his own.

"Do you remember when you and I first me, young one?" He nodded, looking back up at me. I glared until he muttered a soft 'yes.' "Do you recall what I told you would happen if you went off by yourself without your mother?"

"Bad things," he repeated the glossed over answer I had told him all those seasons ago.

"Yes. Do you have any relatives in the City?" The shake of his head and a mouthed 'no' caused me to furrow my brow in thought. "What of outside the walls?"

"Not that I know of. Mom never talked about my dad, either." He was obviously a product of one night spent in the bed of a client, of that I had no doubt. Still, his mother seemed to harbor a great deal of affection for her child, something that caused a little surprise. She was obviously devoted to the boy, even if it meant taking time away from him to sell herself to a man that paid.

Across the open area, on the other side of the statue by the gates, I suddenly caught sight of my mark, and I subtly kept an eye on his progress around the circular area. I placed a clawed hand on the boy's shoulder, causing him to glance at it and then to my face.

"Lucas, I am afraid I have some pressing matters that need to be attended to." He deflated underneath my hand, not responding to the light squeeze I gave him. "If it is alright with your mother, meet me here tomorrow three hours after daybreak." I had never seen eyes light up as much as his did in that moment, turning from sorrowful brown pools to sparkling, dark stones of umber. A wide grin broke across his face as he nodded so fast, I was almost sure his head would fall off. And my mark walked into the same hotel I was staying at. I needed to keep an eye on him.

"I'll meet you here!" he exclaimed, and I suppressed a chuckle.

"Only if your mother permits it so," I stressed, and a bit of the light fades, his grin dropping just a hint. I unstrapped the belt that held the dagger on my hip, wrapping the leather around the sheath and blade. "I tire of seeing you walk around without protection. You shall only use this blade in self defense or defense of another, do you understand? I will teach you how to use it in the morrow." He thanked me profusely, tossing the apple away to hug his gift to his chest. Once more ecstatic, he grinned so wide it had to hurt and trotted off, his new treasure clutched to his breast like a girl would her doll. Only when his back was turned and he was a ways away, I then allowed myself a tiny one-sided smile before falling into my professional mode once more.

There was a target in the hotel, and a path I had to follow in order to be able to kill him in the way specified to receive the reward.

… … …

Later that same evening, I was sitting at one end of the Tiber Septim, sipping a glass of water and slowly munching on my dinner of cooked venison and various other foodstuffs. At the other end, with two well-off girls, or women, I guess I should call them, practically hung off of the arms of the muscled Nord. It was obvious he enjoyed the higher way of life, what with his expensive clothes and his own dinner. I felt no jealously; I didn't care much for gold, as I had grown up bartering with other items for the things I needed or wanted, and so, back home, there was a rather large, growing pile of gold in my footlocker.

The women giggled in a shrill tone, rubbing his clothed arms, occasionally slipping a foot around his and higher up. He would jump slightly and enjoy a boom of laughter as they all but threw themselves on him. The proprietor of the hotel would glance their way every now and again, slowly simmering rage hidden her eyes. Other patrons, just as rich and fancy, would shoot glares in the Nord's direction, their quiet meal disturbed by ear-aching laughter and the desperate acts of the two women.

I was tempted to take him out right then and there. A well-placed throwing dagger right in his eye…but my sense of pride and perfection won out. It was tempting, but I knew better than to take my target out where it could potentially be fatal. And I wasn't too keen on leaving my sword up in my room while I fled.

And so, I continued to sit there, eating until my plate was empty, and refilled my glass many times. There was a point when the number one enemy of the Brotherhood, Adamus Phillida walked into the main room of the hotel with a few of his friends from the guard. They sat at the bar, drinking heavy ale like it was water, their laughter loud enough to rival the single Nord. Who was beginning to retreat upstairs with his dual company.

As tantalizing as it would be to take out the irritable old Imperial, it was not my place. Surely, the Night Mother and Sithis would give that honor to the best candidate, but I did not believe it to be me.

I was not one to believe that the Dread Father or the Unholy Matron would whisper in my ear, as some proclaimed. I was faithful to my Family and the Brotherhood, but I was no fanatic, unlike some who I had to call Family, even if I wished not to. And what was more frightening, there was one or two fanatics that held leverage in the Black Hand. That was actually a more worrisome problem than Phillida; he was merely a thorn in our side, but when fanatics take over the root system…

Plant metaphors aside, I stood and placed some gold on my table before retreating back up to my room, intent on sniffing out the Nord and then catching some sleep before morning. Why I had told the boy I would train him was still a mystery to myself; it was an unheard of thing for me to warm up to someone so quickly, and frankly, it was a little troublesome. Perhaps I should speak to Vicente when I returned home.

… … …

Although the room I had rented was on the other side of the hall, farthest away from the room the Nord had stumbled into, I could hear the raunchy activities he participated in, even with the door closed. Knowing I'd never be able to get to sleep with such activities going on, I sat at the chair in the room, table moved to be in front of me next to the window. The moonlight shined its pale fingers onto the table, the light from the magelights and the candle accenting the room with gold along with silver.

On the table sat a pitcher and glass of water, whetstones, and several weapons. I never walked anywhere without being decently prepared, so I had another silver dagger, however it wasn't as ornate as the one I had given the boy, my hand-and-a-half sword, and a few throwing daggers. I proceeded to sharpen and clean the small knives first, followed by the dagger, and lastly my sword.

It was a special, very powerful sword given to me on my Naming Day so many seasons ago. The blade was an iridescent black, much like my own scales, with light blue runes inscribed on either side of the sharp blade. A slight depression, called a fuller, ran down the length on both sides to a point to even out the weight distribution, with a central ridge drawing to the point. Unlike other swords, long swords, or claymores, it was perfectly even from the base to the tip, whereas others would have the weight centered in the middle, near the tip, or at the base.

The cross guard was the same shade of black as the blade, the grip wrapped with maroon colored leather. The pommel was a black, circular piece of metal with a zircon gemstone through it, the light blue clashing spectacularly with the shiny black surrounding it. The blue of the stone shimmered with the same intensity and bright color as the runes on the blade, marked in ancient languages, speaking the words for fire, frost, and shock.

All in all, it was an incredibly deadly blade, one that burns, freezes, and electrocutes the victim with a single strike. I was very fortunate to receive the blade on my Naming Day, no less.

As I cleaned and sharped, taking care to do an excellent job on all, the loud, annoying noises continued from the Nord's room, and I sighed, pausing to look out of the window.

The streets were clear and quiet, unusual for a bustling city of life. Still, it was a nice reprieve from the loudness that would otherwise be present. Even the hustle and bustle calmed down in the evening, with only the occasional beggar, errant teen, or lying commoner prowling the streets for one reason or another.

A night bird called in the distance, a district or two away as I watched a man sneak into a house, eagerly pulled in by an outstretched hand. I saw the glint on his finger from the moons just before he was dragged in, and it didn't surprise me in the least. In the cities, especially the Imperial City, there was no hope for couples to stay faithful to another. It was actually quite sad, I admitted to myself.

… … …

Just before the time I was scheduled to meet up with the boy, if his mother gave him permission, I had finally gotten some…alone time with the Nord.

The two women who had kept him company had left in the wee morning hours, before the sun broke over distant, faded mountains, the stars fading in a sheet of purple and light red. Both were quite disheveled, and they reeked something fierce, the scent carrying from the hall into my room from under the closed door.

So, I had snuck into the drunken Nord's room, entrance made easy by lack of picking the lock. I had in my hand not a blade of any sort, but a piece of glass I had found on the floor. They were the remnants of a broken glass that had fallen on the floor and shattered.

The large Nord was sprawled across the wide bed, face down and the sheet barely covering his more private parts. The room stank of unmentionables, liquor, and what even smelled like skooma. Shifting the makeshift weapon into my left hand, my dominant hand, I studied my surrounds for a moment, recalling the two women. They were both thin, not a hint of actual muscle to be seen. They weren't anything dangerously or disgustingly thin, just…very well maintained. It was obvious they cared about their appearance, if nothing else.

In order to not be fingered as the murderer, I would have to make it seem like the women had done so. It would have to look like a desperate act, too, to seem like an accident, in order to receive the bonus.

Finally reaching a decision, I grasped the glass firmly in my gloved hand, feeling the sharp edges dig through the leather. I carefully rolled the drunken man onto his back, but he did not wake, thankfully. With a practiced and honed movement, I drove the glass under his ribs, puncturing his diaphragm. His reddened eyes sprung open on instinct, but there was nothing, not even a flicker of life. Nonetheless, as I rolled him back onto his stomach, his stunned expression carved forever on his face, I spoke the words for detect life.

The pink-purple cloud that would form in my vision did not come up with him, but I did see where the other patrons were, sound asleep in their own rooms. I quickly left the room and retreated to my own, where I settled down to catch an hour of two of sleep before meeting up with the boy.

… … …

By morning, when I went downstairs, it seemed no one had discovered the body yet. I paid for a small breakfast and left, having checked out with the owner of the hotel. Just as I stepped outside the door, I spotted the boy, dagger, scabbard, and belt in hand standing next to the statue. When his sweeping gaze finally landed on me, his grin grew large, but he stayed put.

"Hi!" he greeted, and I was tempted to call off the training, but I had never gone back on a promise or on my word, and now was not the time to start.

"Good morning. Did you obtain permission?" His nod was excited, and I waved for him to follow. "We are going outside the walls, but I will have you back before dark."

"Where?" came his eager question as he jogged to keep up with my long strides. "I haven't been out of the city that much."

"In sight of the bridge," I answered, and while it was still vague, he did not press anymore, perhaps sensing my slightly lowered patience. The rest of the walk was in silence, the citizens beginning to wake and go to their respective jobs. No one spared us a look, although I imagine we made quite the pair: a nearly fully-grown Argonian with a small Imperial boy following like a starved-for-attention pup.

Once outside the walls, I walked to the stables to retrieve my horse. I had given the Orc specific instructions to leave my horse alone. I had not missed how, when we had arrived, she eyed her up like a tasty meal, mentally quartering her and reading recipes. The act of eating horses was not anything new to me, but I had grown up around them, as little as the time was, and I couldn't bear the thought of eating something I had come to love. It would be like cannibalism: disgusting and outright revolting.

However, there she stood, dozing in the early morning sun, surrounded by the bay horses of the Imperial Legionaries. As I stepped up to the fence, her head perked up, her demon-like eyes spotting me instantly. She happily trotted up to me, butting her head into my shoulder playfully. With a smile, I pushed her head away to open the gate, not needing to put the reins on just yet. I barely used them anyway, but I figured the boy would want _something_ to ground himself. I had a feeling this was his first time on a horse.

"Who's that?" he pointed to the black mare by my side as I put the bridle on. She protested by stamping a hoof into the dirt, tail swishing angrily.

"It is not polite to point," I ignored his question in favor for pointing out his error. I saw his arm fall and his face gain a red tinge, ducked away sheepishly. I waved to him, and he came over readily enough. With no ceremony, I plopped him onto the mare's back, her questioning gaze answered by my own, asking her to give me time to explain. I swung effortlessly behind the boy, putting my arms around him to make sure he didn't fall, even if I didn't need the reins.

With a slight shifting of my weight forward, the mare started off at a trot, the boy jumping a little with a start. Unlike other horses who had their hooves shoed, my horse wouldn't tolerate metal shoes, her hooves already strong enough to take the regular wear and tear. The _clip-clop_ of her hooves against the cobble stone road wasn't as sharp as the Legionaries' horse that we passed on the long, old bridge. I nodded to the guard, who nodded back, my black mare snarling at the bay stallion, who shied away.

"Must you?" I sighed, a grin on my face as soon as we were out of earshot of the guard, and she bobbed her head in answer. We made short work of going down the bridge and past the small farmhouses at the end, turning off the road and into the woods. In view of the road, but well hidden by old trees. When we stopped, I slid off the mare's rear end, Lucas slipping from her withers, nearly falling to his bum on the landing.

"So…what now?"

"Now. Now you shall learn the basics of wielding a dagger correctly." I took off of my mare's bridal and hung it on a branch, patting her flank before she trotted off, melting with the dark. The boy watched, entranced, as she disappeared, fading into nothing the deeper she went.

"How does it do that?"

"She," I corrected, glancing to the Imperial boy. "Her name is Shadowmere." By the slight glare directed my way, I knew he heard the deflection, and how I avoided the answer. It probably had something to do with being plucked out of the Void by Sithis himself, but honestly, I wasn't totally sure. Still, he did not press for a response. I walked over to him, gently taking the sheathed blade from the boy, pulling the leather belt from the scabbard. I threw the belt over the same branch by the bridle before approaching the boy again. "Show me how _you_ think you should hold the dagger." I tossed the blade in the air, catching it nimbly by the covered blade, grip and pommel pointed towards the boy.

Slowly, he grabbed it, adjusting it in his hand with his other before dropping into a very flawed attack stance. Shaking my head, I turned the blade in his hand, correcting his stance. I pushed him, and his newfound stance kept him stable, and his grin almost caught me off-guard.

… … …

"Thanks," he whispered, exhaustion barely letting his raise his voice. Shadowmere was taking us around the island to the Waterfront, the boy slumped against me. The sun was almost down, with the stars and moons already starting to shine in the west. I nodded, humming deep in my chest. His scrawny arms were wrapped around my middle, head pressed against my chest as he drifted in the realm between sleep and awareness.

"I apologize I will be unable to train you more," I said, surprising myself by how _true_ the statement was; I was sorry that I couldn't train him more. He was a quick study, still a long ways away from a person of my caliber, but, in time, he would quickly catch up. His nod caused his face to scrap against my leathers, which I had changed into before we had left. He was wearing my brown shirt, warding away the cold that was creeping in with the approach of winter.

We went right up to the house I remembered as his and his mother's, stopping in the shadow of the house. I helped him slide off, waving his intentions to give me my brown shirt back, and watched closely as he approached the house. With a final, tired wave and thin smile he entered the quiet house. I listened intently for a while longer, hearing nothing suspicious after a while, and so nudged Shadowmere into a canter.

… … …

"Our newest Brother should be here soon," Vicente announced to me as he joined me next to the fire one night, many seasons later. I looked up from my charcoal scribbles, an eye ridge cocked upwards.

"Oh?"

"Yes," the old vampire chuckled, attempting to sneak a peek at my pad of parchment, which I moved out of his line of sight. "I do believe you'll…enjoy this new Brother."

"We shall see."

… … …

The ancient door groaned open, but I didn't look up from my customary spot next to the fire, curled up comfortably on an oversized chair. I scrapped the charcoal along the parchment, a picture forming without my strict knowledge. Soft steps announced the arrival of the newest Brother, but I continued to draw, the warm fire flickering beside me.

"Vicente," I called across the room, knowing he was in the training room, practicing with another Murderer. "Your new meat has arrived." He sounded his own confirmation, the slight _thunk_ of wood on wood coming from the room.

"You…" trailed a familiar voice, one that struck a cord that had long since resonated. Confused, I finally drew my eyes away from the slightly yellowed parchment.

"By Sithis…" I murmured, my silver eyes raking over the person standing in front of me. He was no longer a skinny, lanky child with too-big brown eyes and shaggy hair. No, who stood in front of me was a young man of about thirty seasons, more muscle on his fine frame, hair cropped neatly and tied back. I carefully placed my supplies on the floor, away from the fire, and stood, shuffling over to him. "Lucas?"

"Lucien," he corrected with a wry grin. "I go by Lucien Lachance now."

"Lucien," I repeated, tasting the new name. "It fits you well. You will grow into your name well."

"Thank you," he nodded as I stepped forward, not too far from him.

"This will probably be the last time this is offered," I said, holding my arms out slightly from my sides. Surprisingly, he dove into my arms after a moment of hesitation, and I sighed. Something was now complete.

"You taught me a lot," he said once he stepped back, a smile on his face. "You saved my life."

"How so?"

"I'll tell you about it later. I have to find a man named Vicente Valtieri."

"He will be along shortly."

"Do I get to know your name now?" When I looked at him, utterly confused, he chuckled, a deep, resonating sound which seemed _too deep_ for him. But he would grow into it, just like his name. "You told me Shadowmere's name, but never yours."

"Ki-Luna," I grinned, patting his shoulder with a clawed hand. "I see you still have the dagger," I motioned to the scabbard strapped to his hip. He nodded with a grin, patting it affectionately.

"Why would I get rid of the one thing that made me who I am?" I just laughed. On the parchment by the fire was a drawing, one I drew because it was how my hand had taken itself. The drawing was of an old farmhouse, a beautiful orchard and garden covered by a layer of snow, five gravestones cropping out of the land. Inside, through the windows, were non-descriptive drawings of six figures, a fire burning in the visible fireplace. Outside stood five horses, one standing off to the side, away from the others who were tied to the trees.

If only I knew how real this one innocent picture would become...

... ... ... ...

_Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it. - Hunter S. Thompson_

_Everything but my OC is owned by Bethesda. This was reviewed by my beta, _Alathea2. _Otherwise, all mistakes are mine. I hope you enjoyed it. Please, read and review, because I enjoy constructive criticism. Have an awesome day, everyone!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Reminder**__: two seasons equal a year._

_I hate leaving home. I love what I do, but I'd love to go home every night. – Charlie Watts_

… … … …

"Ki-Luna." I looked up at Vicente's voice, pausing the movements of the whetstone over the blade of my sword. In his hand he held an unfolded piece of yellowed parchment, an unreadable expression on his face. Tilting my head in curiosity, something I had picked up when I moved from Black Marsh to Cyrodiil, I carefully placed Ember Runner and the whetstone on the table on which I was perched comfortably. Wordlessly, the old vampire handed the letter to me, and I continued to stare at him for a moment longer before glancing downward.

_Vicente Valtieri,_

_I am sure you have heard of the recent passing of the Speaker of Anvil. There has been a promotion from the same Sanctuary in order to fill this role. However, there is no one of high enough rank or of experience to fill the role of Silencer._

_With this in mind, I request you send Executioner Ki-Luna to fulfill this role in Anvil. The Cheydinhal Sanctuary is ripe with those of considerable experience and rank, but I and the new Speaker find that she will be of most assistance. I will be awaiting confirmation from Anvil of her arrival._

As a form of signature, there was the Listener's seal. Looking up to my Mentor, there were no words that could form my disgust and horror. I settled for hissing and grunting in Jel with words that could not be translated without loss of meaning.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his thin but strong hand rested on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. "If there was anything I could do…" But I shook my head, trying to get everything straight in my mind, so I stalled.

"Why would the Listener write to you and not the Speaker?"

"Would you take the news so…well if it were coming from her? She rarely stops at the Sanctuary, and despite the keenness of her Silencer, everyone knows you would probably attack him. You are known by the Listener, and well enough it seems that he would contact me with your new orders rather than the Speaker."

"Vicente…" I knew my voice sounded broken, but I could not help it. My mate and children were in Black Marsh, my homeland, and Cheydinhal was my second home. To be forced to the complete other side of Cyrodiil, to a city and sanctuary I despised…there were hardly any words appropriate for the situation.

He said nothing, just standing there beside me as I tried to gather my emotions. It would probably be best to leave late tonight, if only to escape the sorrowful faces that would surely follow.

"I…I will write to Julos tonight. Might you send it along for me?"

"Of course. When do you plan to leave?" I knew he would see the cowardice in my actions, but I told him anyway. The disappointment was obvious, but so was his understanding.

"Make sure you at least say your goodbyes to Lucien." Ah, the boy. The goodbye to him would definitely be more painful than to Vicente. He was sometimes a younger brother (more than just the slight detachment of a Dark Brother), sometimes a son. I remembered finding him in the streets of the Imperial City, and have watched him grow from mere Murderer to Eliminator, even if the promotion happened just the other day.

Even for one as aware as I of my surroundings, I did not notice when my Mentor left my side, the training room now drowned in stifling, nearly overwhelming silent noise. Still, I did not leave. On the alchemy table next to where I sat was parchment, ink well, and a quill for notes. Not possessing the will nor the desire to leave quite yet, I moved to the table and sat down. Dipping the quill in the ink, I laid a parchment and smoothed it out, stalling once more. But as I wrote, the words began to flow as smoothly as the surface of the Niben.

_Julos_

_I apologize for the nature of this letter and for you to receive it without my being able to tell you myself._

_I have been informed of my immediate movement from one Sanctuary to another. I cannot tell you where for fear of your involvement, however small. _

_A recent drawing of mine has revealed something disturbing, for I know not what it means or whom it could be intended for. It shows a nondescript prison of sorts, but I recognize the tools of torture from my infiltration of Castle Leyawiin, but it does not seem to be of that horrid room. Do not worry yourself or the children, as we both know many of these drawings have not come true, or will. A village burning as a black shadow flies away? It is laughable._

_If you or one of the children wishes to write me, go through the usual channels, and the letter will reach me. Again, I apologize, but in this, I have no control._

_Sithis guide you where shadows fall. I wish the best for you and the children._

I expected no response. My contacts within Archon assured me of his and the children's continuing lives, and the Septims I sent insured their comfort. I longed to be by my mate's side, to watch our children grow and become productive members of society. But it was not meant to be. And now, I was only moving farther away.

Sighing, I folded the letter in the form of an envelope, rising after I scrawled my mate's name on the front. Picking it, the whetstone, and Ember Runner up, I left the training room, crossed the commons, and snuck through the sleeping quarters to my bed. The barracks were unusually empty, what with our…this Sanctuary hitting a busy period where the contracts were back-to-back. I unlocked my personal chest and quietly gathered my meager possessions. As I packed away my charcoal sticks and some parchment, some trinkets I had gained, I found an old drawing of mine from two seasons ago, around the same time Lucien had joined the Brotherhood.

It was around the time of the Mid Year celebration, something not found in Black Marsh. The boy was a Murderer, still learning his place in his new family, when he was caught up in the great glee and planning. Not quite used to the unique, strange, and crazy mannerisms of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, he retreated from the preparations for some alone time. However, when he fled into the woods for his own sanity, he found me, resting in a tree, munching on an apple.

"Ki-Luna?" he had questioned, motioning to me with his hand. My smile was more in my eyes, but as ignorant he was in the expressions of the Saxhleel, he could not understand that quite yet. Without speaking, I waved him to join me in the tree. When he finally found a branch that could support his weight, he was sitting on one just to my left and slightly higher than where I was.

"Needed space?" I asked, and he nodded with an exhausted sigh.

"I don't think I've ever seen a group of people so excited for Mid Year. And I grew up in the Imperial City!" I found it humorous, his exasperation, but I did not show it. I finished my apple, throwing it deeper into the forest, before pulling my drawing pad and charcoal from my bag that hung from a branch above me. As the black stick scraped against the parchment, I felt the curious eyes of the boy on me.

"What are you drawing?" he finally enquired.

"Whatever my hand and mind deem fit," I answered, lifting my lips in what was supposed to be a grin, but from his minute flinch, it seemed more feral than happy. I would be glad for the day he no longer thought my facial expressions were frightening. As I actually looked at the drawing, not staring through it as I normally do, I could see the beginnings of three faces, two of Argonian and one of a human, although the latter was obviously older. From the sketch, I could already tell who made up the portrait.

Shaking myself from the memory, I looked at the finished picture, seeing the younger face of Lucien and those of my children. Their smiles were bright and innocent, but retained the hardness that was borne of the Brotherhood. Of my children, their faces were as accurate as I could remember, having last visited them just after the boy entered under the mentorship of Vicente, and of Lucien, it was accurate to the day I finished it.

I carefully added it to my bag of belongings before double-checking to make sure I had everything, and I slipped out as softly as I had entered. The walk down to Vicente's office that doubled as his personal quarters seemed to stretch on. Knocking on the door just loud enough for him to hear, but not to let the noise echo down the stone hall, he called for me to enter.

I had no words, nor did he. I set the letter on his desk before walking around it. In an uncharacteristic show of affection, I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. Much like a father might, he squeezed tightly, as if he didn't want to let me go, but knew he had no choice. As we pulled back, he held my hand before dropping it. We smiled sadly at one another before I grabbed my bag from where I had dropped it in a chair. The door closed behind me with a finality I had only felt when I first left Archon.

I returned to the barracks, where I gently roused Lucien from his slumber. After ensuring no one else had awoken, I led him to the commons where he looked curiously at my tightly packed bag, at Ember Runner at my hip, and my traveling armor rather than my Shrouded Armor. As I met his chocolate colored eyes, I saw the realization spark in them.

"You're leaving?" Sweet Sithis, his voice was so broken and small, much like when I had first left my children to return to Cyrodiil.

"It is not my choice to make," was all I could say to this question. No accusation burned in his gaze, but there was some anger at the situation, and most definite grief.

"Will I see you again?"

"I plan to visit, but I make no promises." His nod was slow, and I hugged him much like I would my own children. We stood like that, embraced, for many minutes until I had to pull away. I rested a clawed hand on his cheek, the other on his shoulder, looking deep into the grief-stricken pools of brown. "You have been a brother and a child to me. May Sithis guide you where shadows fall." I did not look back as I grabbed my bag and swept up the well ladder.

I would not take my beloved Shadowmere with me, because for all I was going, she would have no time to rest in between contracts. I made sure to leave the bridle I rarely used in my trunk and let her take me to Anvil one last time before we parted ways.

… … …

I had been at the Anvil Sanctuary for nearly a season, but I still did not feel welcome. As Silencer to Arquen, the Speaker of this Sanctuary, I was busy and always moving. We both preferred to not be near one another, so a courier was often sent between us, delivering contracts and payment. I had many missives given to me, but they were contracts rather than the letters I had hoped for. No one, not even my mate, had written me, but it was not something I could, or would, worry about. However, when I saw the black envelope handed to me by the wiry courier, dread pooled in my stomach.

The Listener's seal disappeared at my touch, and my hands felt shaky despite their steadiness. Written on the parchment was a contract, denoted as a Black Hand mission by the color of the missive. The target: Adamus Phillida.

And so, I traveled to the Imperial City and did my own reconnaissance, despite the information printed on the missive I had burned after committing it to memory. Time drew short, for a Dark Brother or Sister was not meant to sit on information so long, no matter how dangerous the contract. We are assassins, not guards or soldiers. The night before I pledged to strike out, I penned letters to Vicente, Lucien, Julos, and my two children. Everything I wrote was personal on a deep, intimate level, but I knew not how it would be received.

… … …

"You were foolish to think you could kill me," the arrogant Imperial snarled from the other side of the room of where I lay, bound to a stretching rack. However, I could see in his eyes he was shaken. Almost being assassinated by your rivals would do that to even the steadiest of men. His armor was now fixed and polished, all evidence of burnt or dented armor gone, replaced with his normal, disgusting gleam.

My luck needed to hold, but in this event, it had failed me in the worst of times. I panted, but did not beg. I flinched and groaned, but did not speak a word. Their patience grew thin, but I was determined to take my secrets of my Family to my grave. So was the way of life for a Shadowscale.

I did not give into his taunting, but my held-back responses straining against their bits.

"Well, little assassin," and I finally relented, cursing his name and bloodline to Sithis' Void to the end of time in Jel, "it seems your time has come." He finally tore his blood-hungry gaze from me, somewhat calming as he interacted with _civilized folk_, as he had introduced them. What kind of _civilized folk_ bound someone, beat them mercilessly, and then dumped their body? The Dark Brotherhood has tortured for information, and I have done so, myself, but there is a fine line between business and sick pleasure, and I'm afraid Phillida crossed that line many leagues back. "Finish the job and dump everything into Lake Rumare. The slaughterfish will take care of the rest."

I always had hoped I would meet a swift end, for it is the gentlest of deaths, but it would seem my wishes would not be obtained. One Imperial gathered my bloodied bag, sword, and armor, while two more unstrapped me, but bound me once I was off the table. Blood loss had slowed my reaction time, and I was in no condition to fight off well-armed, well-armored, perfectly hale guards.

The trip outside was dizzying in the speed, although I was gracious for the moonless night sky. I would leave Nirn, but I would join Sithis in the Void, where I would be free from such cruelty. I was taken to a small boat docked on the land, where two more guards stood at the ready. Unceremoniously, I was thrown into the boat, but I could not even groan, for my breath had been stolen from landing harshly on my back. The first two Imperials turned back to the prison while the others pushed off and hopped into the boat. I assumed they would take me somewhere so the dumping of my body would not be seen. On such a cold night, I doubted even the Nords would want to leave their warm homes.

They rowed for what seemed like hours, but time passed by as quickly as seconds, and the clouds that promised snow and cold took away my ability to tell how much time had passed. But the rowing had ceased, and hands grabbed my things, tossing them into the water. I was roughly gripped next, a single heave throwing me into the shockingly frigid water of the lake. They had to have known I could breath underwater, as all Argonians can, but as I sank, my blood mixed with the water. This is how they wanted me to die: by slaughterfish. It was an exceeding cruel way to kill someone, a way I knew would not be implemented by the Brotherhood. There are things we abide by, and although few things go against our, admittedly, lacking morals, this would be one of those.

Even in the murky water of Lake Rumare, I could see several of the golden-green scaled fish appear and begin to circle me as I drifted downstream. I had no strength left, nothing to even call upon in reserves. However, I felt no fear as the fish circled closer, drawn by the blood that still leaked from my body. I felt no peace, no anger…nothing. I was empty of all emotion. Is this what others feel when they know their demise is imminent, when there are no escape routes, no second chances? If it was, I was then glad for it.

The water had frozen my scales and my nerves, so when the first slaughterfish bite into me, I felt something I guess would be the equivalent of a bee sting, but I had no way of knowing for sure.

Death claimed me that night, in the dark and icy waters of the Upper Niben. It would be many, many seasons until my broken and incomplete skeleton would see a familiar, beloved horse run across the waters above me, escaping from a successful mission that I had failed to complete. It would be so many more before my skeleton disintegrated in the water and Ember Runner, a sword with so much history before me, would see the light of day. I would not see my children grow, I would not see the boy I called brother and son rise to great heights, and I would not grow old with my beloved mate. Somehow, I didn't regret any of it.

… … … …

_A friend of mine said something powerful at his grandfather's funeral. He said that the greatest lesson from his grandfather's life was that he died empty, because he accomplished everything he wanted, with no regrets. I think that, along with leaving a legacy, would be the greatest sign of success. – Marvin Sapp_

_Well, I hadn't been thinking of making a second part to this, but it happened. I would like to thank _**Raven Studios**_ for letting me borrow Sarielle from _Forged in Darkness: A Dark Brotherhood Tale_, and for looking this over for me. It's a really good story, as are the others. And, again, nothing but Ki-Luna is mine. Don't expect anything else to come of this, but maybe, someday, I'll write a longer tale about Ki-Luna, but I promise nothing, so don't get your hopes up._

_Have a great day, everyone!_


End file.
